Modra pulls up on the
rod, which is bent like a tightly strung hunter’s bow. He follows
the fish around the boat in big, labored, man-on-the-moon steps as Stanczyk
barks out a series of commands involving the motor (“Don’t let
him get caught under it”), the other line (“Don’t let him
wrap around it”), and the push pole (“For God’s sake, get
him away from that”).

Modra bends down and
passes the rod under the pole, switching it from his right to his left
hand. He steadies his feet and takes a deep breath as the bonefish takes
off on another high-pitched run.

“Hang on,”
Stanczyk whispers. With a loud grunt, Modra reels and tugs one last time.
Suddenly the fish stops, and there he is, alongside the boat, showing
his sleek, silvery self.

Stanczyk pulls what
he estimates is an 11-pound fish into the boat and snaps the hook from
its mouth. “Look at that!” he says smiling as he hands the fish
to Modra. “At first, I was betting on the fish.” Modra takes
it and places it back in the water. After a few shakes of his tail, the
bonefish is gone. A large patch of dark clouds fills the sky directly
above the boat, but Modra and Stanczyk are oblivious. With their heartbeats
still elevated from the battle, they immediately busy themselves with
rebaiting the lines.

Modra, who happens to
be my husband, met Stanczyk ten years ago when we were living in Fort
Lauderdale, a two-hour drive from Islamorada. Every chance he got, Modra
would “blast down to the Keys to see Stanczyk.”

Fishing is always on
Modra’s mind. Even when he is working or sleeping and the topic seems
to have briefly sunk below the surface, it’s really only a tug away.
In fact, a psychiatrist would be wasting his time conducting a Rorschach
test on Modra, who would free-associate every inkblot with the screen
of a fishfinder (“Well, doc, obviously that’s a school of monster
perch!”). Then he would steer the doctor into a discussion of how
to smoke trout.

But Modra doesn’t
have a psychiatrist. He has Stanczyk, who at age 58 has been running Bud
& Mary’s Marina for 25 years. And yes, before him, there really
was a “Bud” and a “Mary.” Sadly, they split up years
ago when Bud ran off with a younger woman. They’re both dead now.
(Bud and Mary, that is; no word on the younger woman.) In fact, Mary’s
ashes were spread in the inlet near the marina.

Stanczyk is a true angler.
Every day he covers his nose and chin with zinc oxide, slaps a visor on
his head, puts on a long-sleeved Bud & Mary’s T-shirt and baggy
shorts, and heads to the water. He fishes nearly every day, whether it’s
for work or fun—if a man who finds it physically impossible to leave
water where there might be a tailing bonefish can be said to be having
“fun.”

But I digress. The next
day the winds are calm and the just-risen sun is warm in a nearly cloudless
sky. Stanczyk heads to the dock around 7:00 a.m. and finds Modra already
there. The flats await. They’re joined by Vic Gaspeny, an amiable
Bud & Mary’s guide who caught the world-record bonefish (14 lbs.,
6 oz.) on a nine-weight fly rod in 1985. A good guy to have along.